Best of all in tune,

Girls more glad than Maytime,

Boys more bright than June;

359 Mixed with all those dances,

359

Far through field and street

Sing their silent glances,

Ring their radiant feet.

Flowers wherewith May crowned us

Fall ere June be crowned:

Children blossom round us

All the whole year round.

Is the garland worthless

For one rose the less,

And the feast made mirthless?

Love, at least, says yes.

Strange it were, with many

Stars enkindling air,

Should but one find any

Welcome: strange it were,

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